


and god said, let there be light

by dontstraytoofar



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Multiple Character Interaction, this is what we truly deserved in that ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 02:52:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontstraytoofar/pseuds/dontstraytoofar
Summary: Madison dreams of, faintly, a house with four walls that bleeds anguish from its paint; that rots and festers from the inside out. She sees a girl. A boy. A red ball. A woman in a white nightgown drifting down the halls and muttering about the wrongness of the house she walks in.Madison can’t tell if it’s real, or if it’s just a dream.But it’s starting to hurt; it’s starting to feel like a nightmare.-Or the Murder House/Coven re visit; considering Mallory twisting time to get rid of the Antichrist undid every event that took place in 8x06.





	and god said, let there be light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lettertotheworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertotheworld/gifts).



> this fic has been dedicated to my hotgomery and foxxay warrior friend alyssa, you're the best and half the reason this fic even got finished! <3 
> 
> i also want to say, my other fic petrichor will be updated soon i promise! i just wanted to get this long one shot out as it's been in my head for literally months x thank you for being so patient! anyways, enjoy! comments + kudos very appreciated

* * *

 

 

Remembering it comes in waves, and Madison isn’t too sure if it’s real or if it’s a memory or it’s a left over haze of Hell; a thought or experience that was planted there, not actually lived through.

When she first remembers it, she gasps awake, sitting upright in bed and panting. Her eyes are wide, and her hand goes to her neck where the healing scars of her many deaths lay. She feels powder on her lips from her fading dream and when the dust clears, she can make out a teenage girl sitting on wooden floors. It’s fading _fast_ and Madison closes her eyes and grasps to the lingering images flickering past her vision. An old Victorian styled house. Staircases and twins. Firecrackers. Stained glass windows that cascade down a wooden exterior and so much _anger_ and hatred lingering in its screaming walls.

She gasps on a strangled cry at the feeling of death that overwhelms her, and Zoe mumbles in her sleep next to her, arm that was wrapped around her waist tightening as she scrunches up her nose. Madison, in this moment of rare softness, grasps to Zoe’s hand as tears burn her vision.

 “Madison? You okay?”

Madison clamps her hand over her mouth, muffling the whimper that wants to escape. It was so _real,_ the death and the destruction coiling around her throat until she suffocated. And that _girl;_ so young, so sad – like she met death and depression and welcomed them with open arms. Zoe, sleepily blinking her eyes open, furrows her brow in worry at the strangled noise that escapes Madison’s throat; and the moonlight of their open window hits a tear that trails down her girlfriend’s cheek. Zoe sits up so fast in worry the bed sheets tangle with their legs.

 “Hey,” Zoe softly catches the tear with the pad of her thumb, and it makes her even more worried when Madison doesn’t shy away like usual. She leans into it, eyes screwed shut. Zoe’s heart stutters in her chest. “Did you have another nightmare? About-“

Madison shakes her head, breathing out, the words sit in the air unsaid. _About hell?_ She rids it from her mind and focuses on Zoe’s touch that melts the hatred and death that still clings to the dissipating dream.

 “No, no it was-“ Madison opens her eyes, looks to Zoe’s and centres herself in the other girls light. “Jesus, I need a cigarette.”

Zoe looks worriedly on, but doesn’t stop her from reaching into the side drawer and grabbing a packet, lighting up. The flames of the lighter dance across Madison’s face, glowing against the tear tracks that rest there. She breathes in the smoke, shuts her eyes, and angles her face away from Zoe; breathing out the words and the smoke.

 “It was, like a _memory._ Or something.” Madison frowns, trying to recall the images she saw. She looks to Zoe and how the other girl is looking back at her softly, encouragingly, and Madison finds the strength to keep talking. “It feels like it happened _before_ Hell, but somehow after. Or like, in between. There was a house, and people; I think I...helped them, somehow. There was, fuck, so much _anger.”_ Madison winces, fingertips of her left hand messaging at her temple. “Jesus, Zo, my head hurts.”

Zoe leans in, kissing Madison’s forehead and grabbing her hand at her head, holding softly. And in this rare moment, Madison simply sinks into the touch; she isn’t about to admit she needs this right now, but somehow Zoe just knows. “It’s okay, you’re safe, yeah?” Madison’s heart feels less heavy at that. “Do you wanna talk about it in the morning?”

Madison takes another drag, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and looking back at Zoe, she hugs her knees to her chest and lets her girlfriend pull her into her arms. It’s Madison’s silent way of saying: _yes, I need this, thank you for not making me ask for it._

“What if I don’t remember it? And it all fucking just- isn’t _here_ when I wake up?”

Zoe’s eyes soften, and Madison holds tighter to her as if she was slipping away like the girl on the wooden floors in her dream. “I’ll be here.”

Madison snorts on a laugh and buries her face into Zoe’s neck, speaking sarcastically, but with no bite in her words. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

Zoe rolls her eyes in answer, but she hears Madison’s unspoken words in the way she holds tighter to her body as they drift to sleep.

_Good. Please don’t leave me. I need you._

_Stay._

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Cordelia can’t pinpoint the moment she realises something’s wrong with Madison, but it’s somewhere in between the young witch not showing up for classes she _teaches_ and starting to skip meals.

When the Supreme looks to Madison from her position on the couch in the living room, Misty’s head in her lap as she hums, the other girl is sitting at the windowsill; knees drawn up and looking through the glass and lost in thought. Misty, below her, feels Cordelia’s hands in her hair still, following the older woman’s gaze to Madison. She doesn’t miss the worried look Cordelia casts over the other girl, and Misty’s eyes soften at how sometimes Cordelia has so much love for her girls that she can’t help but feel it too.

 “She’ll be okay, Delia.”

Cordelia blinks out of it, furrowing her brows and looking down to her girlfriend who smiles softly back up to her. She resumes massaging Misty’s scalp, watching how her eyes slip close at the contact. “Hm?”

Misty elaborates with a content noise at the back of her throat. “Madison. She’ll be okay. It hurts for a little while but-“ Misty opens her eyes again, reaches up with her hand and cups Cordelia’s face, thumb rubbing softly at her cheekbone. “Ya know how it is. I got back what Hell took from me, she will too. Promise.”

Cordelia’s chest lightens at the words, and she turns her face slightly, kissing Misty’s palm; closing her eyes and breathing her in. She realises in that moment, how far they’ve come, how far Misty’s come, how the light in her eyes is slowly growing back and how Misty looks to Cordelia with so much love, so much trust, that sometimes Cordelia forgets where she was sent and that recovery isn’t quick or easy; it’s slow and gradual and _hard._

Zoe joins Madison at the windowsill, sitting behind her, handing her a cup of hot chocolate; and Cordelia watches how Madison sinks into her front and lets her hold her close. A tension leaving her shoulders, momentarily.

Cordelia though; she can’t help but think that Madison still looks haunted behind the soft smile she casts Zoe’s way.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Madison says something about the House in her dreams in passing, sitting at the dinner table with the council. Zoe brings it up though out of their little bubble of conversation, asking Queenie if it’s weird to have such vivid dreams about something that feels so real. Madison elbowed her girlfriend in the side, scowling.

 “Really? We’re discussing my creepy fucking dreams about a haunted house at dinner now, babe?”

Zoe had the decency to look sorry, mumbling a soft apology and squeezing once to Madison’s thigh.

Across from the table, just adjacent to Madison, Mallory chokes on her drink.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Cordelia almost drops the plants she was holding when a voice clears its throat in the quiet of the greenhouse.

 “Jesus, baby, you almost gave me a heart atta-“

Cordelia turns, expecting to see Misty teasingly smiling back at scaring her in their place of solitude, but blinks in surprise as Madison stands in the doorway; arms folded and seeming to want to be anywhere else than there. She’s wearing her normal attire, short black dress and heels; but her sun-glasses are on the top of her head as if she were about to leave to go out – that and her hand bag that sits near the door way.

  “Madison?” Cordelia says it in surprise, placing the pot down on the centre table and wiping her dirt ridden hands on her pants as she furrows her brows. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Madison takes a breath, sighing in that signature Montgomery way, hip cocked and seeming bored. As if she isn’t asking for help, or acting as if she didn’t care either way. (Except she does, and she won’t admit it, but she kind of really needs Cordelia right now. She needs her Supreme.)

 “I’ve been having these weird _dreams,_ or nightmares, I guess.” Cordelia rests her hip on the table, giving Madison her undivided attention, folding her arms and gesturing for her to continue. Madison clears her throat, walking further into the room and across from Cordelia. She holds herself around her stomach, an action not going unnoticed by Cordelia, and the older woman furrows her brows in worry.

 “It’s like I’ve _been_ to this place in my dreams before, as if I’ve lived it. You know?”

Cordelia nods, biting her lip. She recalls how Misty would wake up panting, sometimes screaming, and Cordelia’s chest constricts when she remembers how Misty would whimper and clutch to her for safety, like a life boat against crashing waves. She still has them, very rarely now, but every time Cordelia feels a piece of her heart break when Misty holds to the front of her sleep shirt and shuts her eyes, tears falling, whispering for Cordelia to not let her go. Cordelia’s suddenly overwhelmingly grateful Madison has Zoe.

 “Misty has them, too.” Madison seems surprised at this at first, but her face relaxes when she realises: _Duh, of course she would._ “Nightmares, that is. But never dreams that felt real. It could be a type of new power you’re honing, like my premonitions. What do you see?”

Madison breathes in, biting her lip. Her heart still hammering at the discovery she made earlier in the day. “That’s…that’s the thing. I get a clear picture of this _house_ , and the street signs, and the people _._ ” Madison shuts her eyes, the pain radiating from the building and its inhabitants stealing her breath from her very lungs. Cordelia frowns at the odd use of the word ‘people’ and how Madison has to steady herself on her feet.

 “So, I looked it up. Typed in what I could remember, what it looked like, the street names. Everything.”

Cordelia opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, Madison breathes out; gaze imploring. And the words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.  
  
 “Have you ever heard of a place called Murder House?”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

There’s days where Nora feels more real than others; where she feels more present and un-scattered.

She can glide her hands against the walls of her house and not focus too much on the pain; she can reach around to the back of her head and not cry out when she feels the blood and wound that occupy the space.

There’s days she doesn’t cry, and there’s days she cries so much she feels like she could die all over again from the pain of it; like there was a gap, so ever present and large inside of her she struggled to fill it. Today, she decides, as she hears the front door unlock and that familiar voice enter the house - is a Real day. Nora can remember what _she_ looks like, what she sounds like, what she feels like; she can remember her presence and her company. How they’ve known each other for _years._

How it feels to have Billie Dean.

 “Nora?”

The front door clicks shut, Nora remains hidden and watches the medium walk to the kitchen, putting her bag down on the counter and biting her lip. She shows herself then, appearing in the doorway just behind the other woman, and Billie turns as she feels her energy. She raises her eyebrow with a smile at how tear tracks don’t coat the socialite’s cheeks, how she doesn’t clutch her handkerchief and instead twists it around in her hands.

 “Is it a Real day today?”

Nora nods to Billie’s soft words, almost seeming to glide into the room, placing her hand on the cool marble of the centre table; realising she doesn’t differ much in temperature to the cold surface. “Very real, Miss Howard.”

The medium rolls her eyes at her words, laying her hand atop Nora’s; and just like every time she touches her, Nora’s chest constricts and it feels like she can’t breathe. As if the other woman gave her lungs air she didn’t need, just to steal it away again. “It’s Billie Dean, remember? Just like yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before that…” Her teasing voice trails off, and Nora nods stiffly, furrowing her brows at a distant memory of just how many times Billie’s corrected her on her name.

But the other woman is becoming more real to Nora as days bleed into others, she doesn’t know if it’s the exposure to Billie that has her memory sticking, or something else. Maybe she just doesn’t want to forget her, Nora thinks. Maybe she’s the only good thing in this house that’s worth not losing.

 “Yes, of course.” Nora clips the words out, moves her hand from under Billies and lays it against her chest, playing with the thin gold necklace that sits there. She tilts her head in thought, and it’s hard not to, but Billie raises an amused eyebrow at the movement, chuckling when Nora frowns.

 “What?”

Billie Dean waves it off, leaning against the table. “Nothing, nothing.” Nora, almost out of nowhere, likes how Billie Dean’s hair falls in perfect waves, how her nails are a dull pink today. She furrows her brows at the intruding thought.

 “Have you seen Constance?”

Billie’s voice snaps Nora out of her drifting mind, and she doesn’t know _why_ but her frown deepens at that, folding her arms as she stiffens. It doesn’t mean anything that it stings, hurts even, that Billie isn’t here for her. Or maybe she is. Nora can’t latch onto a thought quick enough, it’s all confusing and messy and all she can think about is how Billie looks especially beautiful today, like every other day, and the perfume she’s wearing has Nora’s head spinning. She places her hand at her forehead as she grimaces; too many thoughts racing around her tired, scattered mind.

 “No, I haven’t. That…girl showed up, fleetingly though.” Nora waves her hand in dismissal, frowning in thought at trying to remember the teenagers name. _Daisy? Rose?_  “But other than that, it’s been suspiciously quiet today.”

Billie Dean’s eyes soften at Nora’s wince, and she lays her hand at the ghost’s bicep; Nora tries not to focus on how her thoughts slow down at her touch as she looks sharply down at her hand. “Hey,” Billie ducks her head to catch the taller woman’s gaze, she feels the normal sorrow like waves off Nora, but there’s also a calming, _loving_ aura drifting off of her. It throws Billie, slightly.

 “You’re all…jittery, more so than usual. You okay?”

Nora stills, the other woman’s thumb at her bicep rubs softly and Nora clears her throat. “I’m _fine._ ”

Billie raises a disbelieving eyebrow, scoffing. “Sure you are. Is it because it’s _too_ much of a Real day today?”

Nora doesn’t like how sometimes, Billie can see right through her. Figuratively and literally. She almost succumbs, but her walls spring back, because it feels a little too much like falling when Billie looks at her like that. Like she-

 “Since when did you become my personal therapist, Billie Dean?”

The medium rolls her eyes, hand dropping from Nora’s bicep and it feels like the sun went behind a cloud, for a moment. “Since we became friends.” The word hits Nora straight in the chest, she recoils slightly, refuses to let tears fall. _Friends._ It’s the first time either have said it, and it feels…nice. Like a step closer to something more that Nora doesn’t know she wants.

 “Plus, I didn’t come over just for Constance.” Billie reaches in to her hand bag, grabbing a cigarette and trying to light it up. The lighter flickers, and the medium groans when the flame keeps going out. Nora softly grabs her hand and does it for her, the flame not fading as the cigarette ignites. Billie looks back to her with a grateful smile with the stick in between her lips.

She breathes the smoke out, winking. “We’ll be having visitors, Miss Montgomery. All the way from New Orleans.”

Nora almost sneers, actually; she _does,_ making the medium laugh. “Visitors? Oh, for Christs sake.”

Billie chuckles, tapping Nora on the nose and watching the taller woman scrunch it up distastefully at the touch, batting at her hand. “Chin up, gorgeous. They aren’t here to stay, just…curious I think.”

Nora watches Billie walk to the living room, a trail of smoke in her wake. The nickname _gorgeous_ feels like honey coming from the other woman’s mouth, and Nora almost blushes. She follows, worrying her handkerchief in her hands.

 “And is that what you were with my house, Billie Dean? Curious?”

Billie turns, eyes soft but mirthful; almost reminiscent. Nora falls for the deep brown of her gaze.

 “At first, I think. But I guess something’s keeping me here.” Billie blows her last inhale of smoke out, smiling as she bites her lip, looking to Nora in a new way. “Or maybe someone.”

Billie’s voice tilts almost coyly on the last word uttered. And the words make Nora feel so Real; that she swears she hears her heart beat thump against her chest.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 “Really, sweetheart, you have no obligation to come.”

Misty, from her position on their bed, looks up at Cordelia as her head hangs over the side, wiggling her toes in the sheets and shrugging. Cordelia folds clothes neatly into their bags, chuckling softly when Misty smiles back at her; and with her face being upside down, hair brushing the floor, Cordelia basks in the fact that Misty is truly ethereal at every angle.

“I want to, I’ll miss ya too much.” Misty plays with the rings on her fingers, sitting up suddenly cross legged; frowning with worry touching the edges of her eyes. “Plus, I looked the house up on Zoe’s phone. That place gives me the creeps, Delia.” Misty shrugs, tapping to the top of her thigh. “I don’t want you goin’ alone.”

Misty hugs her knees to her chest, and Cordelia’s eyes soften; zipping up their suitcases and walking to her girlfriend, standing next to the bed. She tucks a thick lock of Misty’s blonde hair behind her ears, playing with the feather that sits intertwined amongst her curls. Her fingers brush her earlobe and Misty closes her eyes at the touch, humming, her forehead coming to rest softly on Cordelia’s blouse covered sternum.

 “We’ll be fine, Mist. From what Madison’s told me, I think she simply wants to visit. I just, I worry too.” Cordelia sighs, and it prompts Misty in to opening her eyes and angling her face up. “This Coven’s track record with ghosts hasn’t been, well… _great.”_

Misty furrows her brows in thought at first, but then remembers vaguely, an axe and a man with no tongue and so much _blood;_ and it feels like an eternity ago that happened. Misty takes Cordelia’s hand in hers, playing with her fingers, she tugs once and Cordelia wordlessly leans down for a kiss.

Misty doesn’t have any encouraging words to say to that, but what she does have is her love. So she pours it out for Cordelia to taste, against her lips, and the grateful hum the Supreme mumbles against Misty is _enough._

“We’ll be okay,” Cordelia pulls back and presses a kiss to Misty’s forehead, smoothing the side of her hair down lovingly. And Misty doesn’t know if Cordelia’s saying it to reassure her, or reassure herself.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

There’s something in the air, as soon as Misty’s feet hit the pavement, that smells of anguish _._

It makes Misty falter in getting out of the car; stumbling slightly as it washes over her. Cordelia in front of her turns back worriedly, not feeling Misty following. It’s like waves and waves of it consumers her, makes Misty swoon as it overtakes her senses. Cordelia instantly catches her by her arm and holds her close, voice worried as Misty leans against her. It’s all too _familiar,_ and the act of catching Misty like that sparks a memory that Cordelia isn’t sure she’s even experienced.

 “Misty? Hey,”

Cordelia holds Misty’s cheek in one hand, and the younger witch can’t help but wince when the house in front of them pulses; like a heartbeat of sorrow, _yearning_ for anything good it can latch on to. “What’s wrong?” She hears her girlfriend’s words next to her and sees Zoe round the car quickly, Madison following; and yes Misty _feels_ Zoe take her other arm, body taunt with worry. But it feels like she’s separated from life, decay seeping into her bones. The house looms over her, and Misty feels empty and lost and Cordelia at her side is enough for her to breathe in deep – focus on Cordelia’s light magic that lingers silently, waiting for Misty to latch on.

She does, desperately, politely squeezing to Zoe’s hand in thanks as she held her up; and feeling how Cordelia doesn’t let go of her forearm until Misty nods once, breathing out.

 “I’m fine. It’s just…so much _death._ This place, it’s-“ Misty shakes her head, ridding the feeling in her stomach. “Madison, why are you so desperate to even be here?”

Already standing at the gates and looking back up to the house, Madison folds her arms. Misty can’t see her face, but she swears she sees Madison tense. A spring coiled, ready to snap. Zoe, next to her, lays a comforting hand at her shoulder, but Madison smoothly moves from under it and rolls her eyes. It’s like she _wants_ to be here, needs to be here, but doesn’t even know why herself. Misty frowns at that.

 “Can we just go in already? We look like idiots standing in front of a closed gate.”

Cordelia sighs then, and just before she moves to open the gate with her magic, she looks to Misty again; her gaze imploring, soft and worried. As if to say “ _Are you sure you’re fine?”_ Misty nods to the look, smiling lightly and grabbing to Cordelia’s hand.

It settles the worry that Cordelia has, enough for her to softly rub at Misty’s knuckles in her hand and swallow the feeling that jumps from Misty’s touch, to hers. And in the next moment, Cordelia flicks her wrist, the gates groan open, and the feeling doesn’t leave Misty’s chest for hours to come.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Nora moves the curtains slightly to peak through, feeling the warm afternoon sun hit her cold skin through the stained glass. She furrows her brows, playing with her necklace with her free hand. Billie knows this tick, it’s her “ _I’m anxious but don’t know what to do with this feeling”_ tick. The medium comes up beside her, watching how Nora scrutinizes the four women she sees walking up the overgrown pathway.

One of them, clad in a long dark dress that hugs her curves, long blonde hair and porcelain skin, startling reminds Nora of Billie Dean. Her hand is softly placed in another woman’s who walks besides her, she’s tall with wild hair and soft eyes, but the way she clutches to her companion’s hand screams a type of restlessness Nora is familiar with. A type of nervousness Nora has seen in so many people who grace this house, who step over the threshold and breathe it in. She silently watches them, tilting her head and tapping her nail to the glass in question as she goes to ask Billie just _who_ is walking up her houses front steps. But before she can, Billie’s voice startles her out of her reverie.

 “They’re witches, darling.”

Her voice, although smooth and warm, has Nora jumping slightly and glaring at the medium and her teasing smile. She hikes up the light silk shawl around her shoulders that slipped down in her fright, and rolls her eyes at Billie’s amused snort.

 “A fact you neglected to tell me.” Nora looks towards the front door, slightly apprehensive, knowing a knock or two will sound out into the silence any moment now. “And that is…ridiculous, Billie. _Witches?_ ”

Billie bites her lip to stop her smile coming through, Nora is extremely adorable when she’s confused; and the crinkle in her brow as Nora looks to her has Billie laying a comforting hand at Nora’s arm, a touch the other woman actually doesn’t shrug off. It eases Nora’s restlessness, and Billie internally smiles at this. There’s something about being able to calm an anxious, centuries old ghost, that has a sense of pride warming Billie’s chest.

 “Not the ones with crooked noses and pointy hats that you’re familiar with, Nora. The older one in all black is the Supreme, the one to her left is her partner Misty, and the rest is her council. They told me over the phone they’re here to visit, I think. They have no thoughts of buying, not when Constance holds the deed and has no intentions of selling.”

It calms her racing heart slightly, Nora realises. How she can find herself lost in Billie’s voice regardless of what she was saying. And before Nora can dive into a monologue of more worries, Billie suddenly frowns; her hand coming up to Nora’s face as she tucks a stray blonde curl behind her ear that is out of place. Nora tries not to focus too much on how the warm touch of Billie Dean has her mind clearing and throat closing up. And even with their height difference, somehow it always feels like Nora is looking up to Billie. She makes her feel small, somehow. In a good way.

Billie tilts her head, pleased at the curl being back in its spot as she hums. 

 “Your house is safe, don’t fret your pretty little head.”

Nora scrunches her nose up at this, batting at a smiling Billie’s hand; and there’s this moment, this suspended moment as Billie laughs at Nora’s disgruntled expression, that Nora finds her whole view point narrowing down. It’s as if the light from the window draws to Billie’s smile, to her eyes ( _god, her eyes)_ to how her perfect blonde waves fall down her shoulders and how her expression as she looks to Nora could almost spell out everything she wants to say in one quick glance. She’s beautiful, she’s so fucking _beautiful_ and there isn’t a word Nora can find to describe it.

She feels Real today, yes, but there’s something about _Billie’s_ Realness that has Nora so drawn she can’t stop herself. She rests her palm to Billie’s chest, furrowing her brows at what greets her. She hasn’t felt another’s heart beat since her son’s; and Billie’s….it thumps softly, strongly, so steady and sure is its rhythm that Nora startling finds the pads of her fingers pressing softly into her warm skin. The handkerchief she clutches in her free hand comes up to her lips as she stares; she wonders where this has come from and she wonders why the life that bleeds from Billie Dean doesn’t feel stifling like every other living humans. It’s warm and loving and-  
  
 “Nora?”

She blinks out of it, feels two pin pricks of water in the form of tears touch her cheeks, and looks up from Billie’s chest to her face. She doesn’t know when she started crying, but the other woman is looking to her worriedly, a soft expression Nora finds herself falling for. “Hey, are you okay? What’s…“

Panic seizes her chest, and she doesn’t _know_ what she’s feeling today and she feels too real and alive to be touching Billie. The fluttering in her cold chest is _paralysing;_ since when did she have the breath to be able to panic? To breathe? Billie walks forwards slowly, ducking her head slightly to catch her gaze as she speaks softly but Nora shakes her head and furrows her brows, feels Billie take her hands and it’s all too _much._

The door-bell rings. Nora’s head snaps up to the sound, blue eyes wide and confused, and before Billie can calm Nora down, tell her to _stay_ , _it’s okay, I’m here_ ; she’s gone.

Billie Dean sighs, closing her eyes, feeling slightly hurt at Nora’s abrupt choice to not be seen. But she knows she’s still…around. She feels it in the way that her floral perfume lingers and isn’t far as Billie walks to the door, in the way that her blouse at her lower back is pulled ever so slightly taunt, as if Nora were clutching it in between her fingers.

She grabs the doorknob, turns it, and wonders why Nora pressed to her chest like that, as if she could feel her very heart; as if she could feel the love that bleeds from it.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

Cordelia feels it in the way the house almost sways with contempt, how it groans and shudders as the front doors open. She gets it now, what Misty was feeling, it’s so _stifling._ Cordelia finds it hard to breathe at moments. She feels Misty’s hand in hers tighten as the door opens, and it’s instinct to squeeze back reassuringly. There isn’t a moment, she thinks, during this visit, that Misty won’t be off guard. She raises their conjoined hands and kisses the back of Misty’s, pressing love into her where she can; Cordelia feels the other woman settle, and smiles warmly at Misty’s magic unconsciously seeking hers.

A woman, the medium she spoke to over the phone Cordelia assumes, greets them with a friendly smile; hand outstretched to shake. Cordelia takes it, ignoring the impatience rolling off of Madison to her right, smiling politely as the other woman speaks.

 “Billie Dean Howard. I assume you’re Cordelia Goode?”

Cordelia nods, taking her hand back. “Yes, we’re just here for a-“ Cordelia furrows her brows, _really, what are they here for?_ “Personal tour, I suppose.”

Billie Dean’s lips quirk up at that, like she somehow knows more than what Cordelia lets on. She pulls a cigarette out from underneath the strap of her bra, tsking when she realises she has no lighter. “Sorry, do any of you have a-“

Madison flicks her wrist, the end of the cigarette lighting up in an ember flame. Madison rests her hand on her hip impatiently, gesturing to the open door. “Well? Can we come into this death pit or what? I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”

Billie Dean raises an eyebrow at that; hearing Cordelia admonish her with a sharp word of her name. The medium waves it away, not at all affected by the stinging words. Her focus turns to the young witch who spoke, and there’s a sadness rolling off of her; Billie feels it almost like a grey aura. So much _death_ she feels, her soul tired and weary, like the blonde girl has died and pieced herself back together too many times. But the brunette girl next to her, taller and younger and quiet, seeps this light purple into the swirling darkness of hers. Billie takes a drag, stepping aside and letting them into the house as she peels the cigarette from her lips, smirking.

 “And _you_ must be Madison Montgomery.”

The girl in question pauses as she looks to the chandelier’s that hang from the doorways ceiling, bright and shimmering across her eyes as she looks back down, a proud smile. “Seen my movies?”

Billie chuckles, she softly feels Nora next to her, unseen, tap once to her wrist. _Stop smoking,_ she can almost hear, _By god you’ll have lung cancer before you’re fifty. Also, don’t let them touch anything._ Billie almost chuckles at this, but instead she blows out the smoke, passing Madison on her way to the living room. She feels the two older witches’ energy in the kitchen, leaving them to their devices for now.

 “No, I’ve known a few Montgomery’s in my time, but never a witch.”

Madison seems to perk up at this, trailing her hand over the back of the leather couch in the lounge room; and Billie feels Nora tense beside her. She’s never really liked people touching her stuff. “Right, the original owner, yeah? Nicole or something.”

Nora beside her scoffs, and Billie smirks as she hears her grumble. _She’s making it awfully tempting to appear._ Billie thinks to calm her, she can feel Nora’s energy becoming restless at so many unknown people in the house; and the other ghosts are too, which begs more concern than anything. The walls, to Billie, seem to start to breathe unevenly – and Nora taps to the inside of her elbow in a way that conveys perfectly what she’s thinking. _The basement is stirring._ Witches, especially the Supreme, radiate an aura the house doesn’t seem to take kindly to, and Billie breathes in another drag before putting her cigarette out in the ashtray on the fireplace mantle.

 “I suggest doing what you came here to do quickly, Miss Montgomery.” Billie breathes in, centres herself, tries to placate the ever growing pressure in her head at the sudden _presence_ that fills the house. Her hand comes up to her forehead at the surge of energy; Nora next to her, unseen but felt, touches lightly to her cheek in worry. She waves Madison and the other girl off when they look to her in concern, wincing as her temple throbs.

 “I’m fine, just…go. Please, try to not disturb the residents any more than they already are. _Jesus.”_

Billie collapses onto the nearby couch, shutting her eyes as her mind pulsates with the energy of the house. She doesn’t notice the two girls leave, too occupied with the ache of her head as she grips to the arm of the couch, nails digging into the stitches of its seams. And it isn’t until two cool hands cup her face softly that her eyes flutter open. Nora is in front of her, kneeling, a soft and worried look gracing her features. Baby blue eyes shine back up at her, flicking around her face as her thumb rubs softly back and forth across her cheek. Nora is present, physical, her index finger comes up and moves a piece of Billie’s hair out of her face; she watches as Nora’s eyes mist over with a sheen of tears that refuse to fall.

 “Billie? What’s wrong? You’re-“ Nora swallows, looking down as Billie grips to her forearms for support. “You’re shaking.”

Billie Dean leans into her touch, hands coming up to the other woman’s wrists and grounding herself. The house seems to settle, slightly, enough for Billie to breathe properly and calm her trembling body. She takes this moment to realise she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Nora kneel for anything, let alone anyone _._ “I’m okay,” Billie’s hands fall from Nora’s wrists, and she tries to stand using the arm of the chair; but a cool hand to her chest prevents her. She falls back down to the cushions instantly, blinking owlishly back up at Nora whose hand stays splayed out just beneath her collarbone.

 “No, sit down, Billie Dean Howard. I swear you have zero self-preservation…” The last bit is said under her breath, and Billie smiles lightly as Nora moves to pick up cushions from the other couch, leaning over Billie and propping them behind her back. Billie likes how the necklaces she wears dangle softly from her neck, how she places her hand at Billie’s shoulder and urges her forwards to slip the soft pillows behind her. Billie rarely sees this side of Nora, caring and delicate in her movements, and there’s something beautiful about it, she thinks. Something inherently loving in the way Nora handles her in this moment. When she settles, Nora looks like she’s about to say something, but another voice interrupts the soft silence.

 “Oh! Sorry, we thought you were…alone?”

Billie watches Nora’s head snap up at the voice, and her form is already flickering in urgency to disappear already. She looks to Billie Dean, almost for a quiet type of guidance. _Can I trust them? Should I leave, or stay?_ Billie quickly lays a comforting hand at her shoulder, squeezing softly as she watches Cordelia stand in the entryway of the room. The other woman, _Misty,_ she remembers, comes up beside her; her arms across her stomach in a drawn in stance. _She radiates that same force of Madison’s, but so much more calm, tranquil,_ Billie notes. _How many times has she died?_

Billie stands with the help of Nora’s arm, wincing as all the blood seems to rush to her head. “You’re never alone in this house, dear.”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow at this, a worried look gracing her features at the mediums state. But her attention is pulled to the other figure in the room. “Clearly,” She holds her hand out to shake, smiling politely, and Billie watches mirthfully as Nora looks uncertainly to it. Furrowing her brows, like the Supremes’ hand was a snake rearing its head. “We haven’t met. Cordelia G-“

Nora straightens, hand waving Cordelia away in the air as she speaks; Billie bites her lip to stop her smile coming through at Cordelia who just blinks back at the abrupt dismissal of her outstretched hand. Nora clutches to her necklace, playing with it as she speaks. “Charmed.” She looks to Misty then, tilting her head and gesturing to her, eyes narrowing as if she were trying to put together a puzzle. “And you are?”

Misty smiles softly, going to offer her hand, adorned with rings; but thinks better of it. Opting to nervously tap at her thigh. “Misty. Misty Day. Sorry, I just-“ She furrows her brows, eyes almost sad, but mostly confused. And Billie in this moment notices how Nora doesn’t know quite what to do with that. Doesn’t quite know how to receive concern from a woman she’s never met.

Misty in the next moment bites her lip, holding to her elbows. “You ain’t alive, are you?”

Nora blinks, and _oh,_ it was a Real day today; but not _that_ real. Nora’s hand, shaking softly, comes up to the back of her head, a ghost of a wince gracing her features as she remembers. She nods, blinking back tears that pebble at her eyelashes and almost fall. “Right. Yes.” She frowns, and Billie’s heart fractures into concern as Nora gazes seemingly into thin air, like she could pluck her jumbled memories right from the air between them. Cordelia seems surprised at this information, but settles, feeling her girlfriend shuffle with an apologetic expression.

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Billie Dean then softly shakes her head, as if to say there’s no harm done, and quickly holds to Nora’s hands; the ghost looking sharply down to the touch, tears finally falling.

 “Sweetheart?”

Nora blinks, lower lip trembling in confusion as melancholy travels into her mind. “Where’s my ba-“

Billie catches Nora’s tears on her thumb, and Nora gasps, swallowing her choked words as Billie’s touch grounds her. “No, no. You know where he is. Remember?” She lays Nora’s palm to her chest, just over her un-beating heart, her own covering hers. “Just like we always say. In here. He’s in here, Nora, he never left.”

Nora swallows, thick with emotion, her eyes clearing in a type of haze. Her hand curls up on her chest, seeking Billie’s; their fingers intertwining. She nods, curls moving with the action as she centres herself in Billie’s touch, her voice, her light. The memories slot in her mind in pieces, but ever so unreliable. The ache is so deep, so sudden, but Billie’s touch helps her lock it away inside of herself for another day. That’s the thing with pain, Nora has come to learn, it seems to transcend time.

She notices the two other women, frowning softly, not letting go of Billie Dean’s hand.

 “And who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

Cordelia opens her mouth, confused slightly at the abrupt change in both personality and emotion; but Misty walks forwards with a soft expression of understanding. “Misty and Cordelia, ma’am. Remember? Here-“

And in a bold move that Billie raises her eyebrows at, Misty holds her right hand out; cupping Nora’s free one in her left, encouraging the ghost to hold back. It’s the touch, the exact touch and movement when Cordelia first met Misty. This openness, the offering of a trust not yet known. Cordelia’s heart at the action threatens to swell, it feels as if she could choke on the beating organ at how Misty almost vibrates love. Acceptance. How her very being is a beacon of warmth that Cordelia will always, forever, be in love with.

And Nora has this same expression that Misty first had, all those years ago. But it differs; where awe and love poured from Misty’s eyes as Cordelia cradled her hand, hesitance and confusion swirl in Nora’s. Her eyebrows furrow, her fingers curling to already reject such a touch; but the young woman across from her smiles softly and Billie Dean next to her nudges Nora – an amused expression on her face at seeing the socialite so affronted. Nora rolls her eyes, finally relenting and letting Misty hold her hand fully. She feels the coolness of all her rings, her long wild blonde hair tickling her knuckles; and Nora taps at her own collarbone impatiently.

 “Well? Wonderful. We’re holding hands. Want to light the fireplace and sing kum ba yah while we’re at it?”

Billie Dean snorts, Cordelia chuckling as she shakes her head. “Don’t give her any ideas. She really would.”

Misty hums to herself, closing her eyes as she speaks, as if no other conversation took place. “It’s funny,” Misty feels Cordelia lay her hand at the small of her back, and she melts into her girlfriend supportive touch. “You have that stench of death, but there’s so much life clingin’ to you. It’s like there’s something keepin’ you here, making you more…real.” Misty opens her eyes, she drops Nora’s hand, the ghost thankful as she flexes her fingers; looking perplexed at the other woman and trying not to catch Billie Dean’s gaze. _Something making you more real._ Misty bites her lip sheepishly, taking a step back. “Sorry, that was probably too personal.”

Nora can’t find any words to say, they get stuck at the juncture of her throat because Misty is looking between her and Billie as if she can see something they both can’t – and Billie’s hand is still at her chest as well and her _touch_ is like a flame Nora got too close to. But it’s so warm and calming; it doesn’t burn, it nurtures.

 “She’s friends with a medium,” Billie teasingly winks to Nora. “She’s used to it.”

Nora tries not to blush as she then takes her hand away, folding her arms at Billie’s smile. She goes to retort back, but gets distracted by Cordelia laughing softly. She raises an eyebrow, and Misty finds it kinda hilarious at her girlfriend who’s the _Supreme_ , sobering up instantly at a ghost who lightly glares at her.

Cordelia bites her lip, clearing her throat. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…you remind me so much of Misty when we first started dating.”

Misty hip checks her, smiling softly with a raised eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

 “Nothing! You were just…super cute and blushed a lot.” Cordelia chuckles, but realising what she might have insinuated as Nora’s frown turns even more perplexed, quickly amends herself. “Not that you are, Miss Montgomery. Sorry. I didn’t mean…that.”

Billie Dean laughs then, an amused smile playing on her lips as Nora rolls her eyes. Nora doesn’t know what it means when her heart lightens at seeing these two women clearly in love; is that what it feels like? That knowing of someone, that easiness. She thinks of moments when Billie knows exactly what she’s feeling and exactly how to ease her pain – and Nora sees love in this shining figure that smiles and holds to her and reminds her of who she is. Who steady’s her, grounds her, who not moments before was the only thing tethering her to reality.

 “Doesn’t seem like the other two lovebirds are coming down any time soon. Tea, anyone?”

Billie’s voice snaps Nora out of her daydream, and she vaguely hears Cordelia offer to help and Misty nod enthusiastically at her offer. But she doesn’t really feel like tea, or anything for that matter. What she feels is Billie’s hand squeezing to hers once in reassurance as she leaves.

What she feels is her once un-moving, frozen heart, beat soundly and in time in the silence of her withered ribcage.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

The front door of Murder House clicks shut, the echo of its visitors fading out into the afternoon sun.

Madison Montgomery and Zoe, Billie Dean came to learn; were here for none other than Moira and Violet Harmon. She supposes she could have guessed, when Madison stepped foot into the house there was an intention there that Billie could read off of her, she could see through her like glass.

 _The young witch came out from the back-yard dusting off her hands of dirt, and before Madison could even announce her presence; Billie’s cup of tea softly landed with a click on the living room foot table._  
  
_“You released her.” Billie frowns, not feeling Moira anymore. She shuts her eyes, trying to read Violet too. She’s still here, present in the house, but her aura is so bright it fills Billie Dean’s chest up with a familial feeling of love._ She found peace with her parents _. She sees, so clearly in her mind, Violet smiling as Vivien hugs her to her chest. Ben kissing her forehead. Billie chuckles, eyes shining over with tears at the palpable feeling. “Constance will be thrilled about Moira, I have to say.”_

_Cordelia looks to Madison in question at her position on the couch next to Misty, but the young witch simply grabs to Zoe’s hand and rolls her eyes; gesturing to the front door. “I’ll explain everything in the car, Cordy. Can we like, leave now?”_

Billie rests her hand on the wood of the front door as it shuts, smiling softly to herself.

 “Are they gone?”

Billie turns at the voice, Nora’s voice, and nods softly. Nora is standing behind her, startling close, as if she was hiding the fact that she was peaking over Billie’s shoulder to see outside. Billie chuckles, watching how Nora blushes and moves slightly backwards. Nora nervously gestures to the retreating figures of the witches, laughing to herself softly. “The one with that funny little accent was…endearing, to put it lightly.”

Billie Dean raises an amused eyebrow, locking the front door. She knows Constance won’t mind her staying over, she never does. She has a spare key, anyways. “Who, Misty?”

Nora makes an affirming hum, gliding to the stairs and starting to ascend to the bedroom both women most often than not, find themselves residing in. Billie follows, teasingly poking Nora in her lower back from behind. “She kinda looks like you, darling.”

Nora snorts, batting at Billie’s hand; and the medium doesn’t have to see her face to know a slight smile graces Nora’s face at the touch regardless. “ _Me?_ Well, you didn’t pay very much attention to that Supreme then. She was the splitting image of you, right down to the nails funnily enough. I will never understand women’s needs in this era to have such long nails.”

They make it to their bedroom, and on their way Beauregard rolls his red ball down the hallway; and Nora happily bends down, rolling it back and smiling softly at the low gleeful laugh that echoes through the corridor. Billie’s eyes soften at this, she will never cease in falling for Nora’s quiet compassion, her quiet care she rarely shows another soul.  And when Billie opens the door to their bedroom, Nora’s next words as she sheds off her cardigan have her choking on nothing but air, the sentence so abrupt and unprepared for that Billie Dean falters.

 “Odd, her index and middle finger on her right hand were so _short._ Is that a thing, Billie Dean?”

The medium tries to, she really does, she bites her lip to hold in her laugh. But Nora’s innocent expression and furrowed brows are just too much, and Billie laughs as Nora blinks back at her, offended. “What? What’s so funny?”

 “Nothing, it’s just-“ Billie’s eyes soften, because Nora is now sitting on the double bed and leaning back on her palms, realising it’s a joke or _thing_ her time period doesn’t allow her to understand, as she crosses her legs at her knee and rolls her eyes and waves it away.

 “-another notion of this century I don’t get that I’ll have to add to my list. Yes, yes, I get it.”  

But Billie Dean isn’t focusing on that, because with the way Nora’s sitting the moonlight hits her skin and bathes her in something _beautiful;_ in this type of light Billie is struck by. Her loose curls from the day fall down her shoulders, but are still slightly pinned up. It’s a beautiful type of dishevelment Billie is so enamoured with that it isn’t until Nora says her name, snapping her fingers in front of Billie Dean, that she realises just how out of it she was. “Billie?”

Billie shakes her head, blinks once, twice; wonders when she admitted to herself that she was in love with Nora Montgomery. Was it the first day she met her, or was it just then? In that moment of counting the specs of moonlight in her ocean eyes? Billie isn’t sure, but sometimes it feels like she’s always loved her. “Sorry, what?”

Nora tilts her head, in that endearing way Billie loves, and stands up; lightly touching Billie’s left cheek with the tips of her fingers. “You’re two sheets to the wind, Billie Dean. Where did you go?”

 _I got lost in your eyes,_ Billie thinks. And yes, god, maybe she _is_ two sheets to the wind and the sails of her ship are rattling loose; and she is untied, taking an erratic and unknown course and barrelling and _tumbling_ into the sharp rocks of an unmarked bay. But Nora is the sea, and she is unpredictable and unforgiving but she is _beautiful._ She is this force of nature Billie Dean is just starting to understand; just starting to navigate, and Nora seems to know to right her path away from the jiggered rocks and into the calm waters when the storm clears.

She might regret this later, but _fuck,_ she’s getting too old to start regretting things. She doesn’t think, she just _does._

Billie kisses her, her hand coming to rest at the juncture of Nora’s jawline, acrylic nails touching the soft flesh of her earlobe. She feels Nora gasp first, tense, but as if she’d been wanting the _same,_ as if she’d been waiting for Billie to mark her journey against her waves for years, Nora sinks into the kiss. Her lips are cool, soft, and she tastes of death but smells of florals and Billie Dean doesn’t know when to breathe for once in her life. Doesn’t know anything except for the cold, comforting press of Nora’s lips against hers. Billie Dean moves her lips, and there is this gentle but oh so delicious sound of Nora moaning softly; her hand coming up to hold Billie’s at her jaw.

And just as if remembering her need for air, Billie pulls back slightly, their lips brushing as her chest labours. And God, does she fucking _fall_ for how Nora’s eyes flutter open in this nuanced way, like two butterfly’s wings touching light for the first time. Nora touches where Billie Dean kissed her in wonderment, and she bites softly down on her lower lip. Her eyes shine, and she blinks, a fresh tear falling to her cupids bow.

Billie Dean catches it with her thumb, just like always.

 “I…” Nora searches her face, and Billie’s chest labours in worry. And when Nora’s lips upturn in the smallest, sweetest smile, Billie finally chuckles with a relieved breath. “Does it always feel like that?”

Billie kisses at the corner of her mouth, then her lips again, and when she pulls back Nora tries to chase the press of her lips, pouting when Billie teasingly dodges. “Like what?”

Nora feels Billie pull her close by the hips, and her hands come to settle softly at her shoulders, her thumb rubbing across Billie’s jutting collarbone. And Nora looks back to her, and sometimes Billie swears her crystalline eyes tell a thousand words, a thousand stories, a thousand feelings.

 “Like it means something.”

Billie feels her very chest constrict at the words, she lets it falls to her shoulders in a realisation that almost fractures her heart in two. In Nora’s one hundred year existence has anyone kissed her like she meant something to them? Did she ever _love_ when she was alive? The startling notion that Nora scarcely, if at all, has known what it feels like to be loved back _does_ something to Billie in that moment. For she cannot, for one moment, think of a time when she didn’t love Nora and want to say the words as if her lips were meant to speak them. She berates herself, she berates herself for not telling her _sooner_. Have they already lost too much time? Or is time something that doesn’t even matter, not when witches breathe or not when Billie can kiss the lips of a woman who hasn’t tasted life in a century. She doesn’t know, but what she does know is-

 “ _Yes_ ,” Billie says, kisses Nora and speaks against her petal like lips. “Yes. It’s meant to mean something. It’s meant to feel like this, always.”

Nora smiles against her lips, eyes shining in this way that rival the very stained glass crystal that rests on the walls beneath them. “Kiss me again, Billie Dean Howard. And don’t ever stop.”

Billie chuckles, leaning in again and cupping Nora’s face with her hands, the other woman’s breathless laughs against her mouth feeling like the softest rain; like the sea salt mist taste of crashing waves that entice her, that Billie begs to drown in.

They have this, Billie Dean thinks. They have this _love;_ however long time allows them.

 

-

 

 

 


End file.
